A POUND OF FLESH

Along Came Polly

ALONG CAME POLLY

4

Thank you for reading, if you enjoyed please remember to vote!

The evening air had lost all the warmth of the day, fall was coming. A cool breeze caresses Polly's cheek as she staggers along the dimly lit street. It felt nice against her bare skin. This was her favorite time of the year, when the nights became comfortable enough for long walks that the day did not allow.

The city is abuzz. Students from all over the world, are starting to arrive in the metropolis; changing the scenery that makes up Toronto's multicultural nightlife. Tonight, like any other that would last the next two semesters, they pour onto the streets in droves discovering and enjoying the city. Alcohol fueling their carefree spirited nature.

Polly envies them as she watches a group of young men and women walk arms interlocked down the street. Their lives still full of promise.

Polly, her once alabaster skin now showed wear beyond her forty years. A heavy mask of makeup does little to hide the crow feet's lining her eyes. Her hair, dry and brittle, from being a bottle blonde, her vanity would not allow the natural color with gray roots to show.

How she longs to see a hairdresser - but that is out of her price range. She is not even making ends meet as it is. Today, as she does every day, chooses the bottle over sustenance and paying her rent. Soon she would be homeless but that is not today, so she carries on amongst the younger crowd hoping their youthful exuberance will rub off on her.

As the city's nightlife begins to unwind Polly decides to make one last attempt to have a drink. A small shake to her small frame is evident as starts her approach. She hikes her skirt and pulls her shirt down a little more, pushing her chest forward - hoping that will be the added touch to win her entrance. It is not - the bouncer raises a hand denying her access.

"Go home," is all the gruff voice tells her as he points her in the opposite direction of what she desires.

"Fine," she mumbles under her breath throwing her hands up in defeat causing her to lose her balance.

A group of young women brush passed her laughing and smiling coyly at the bouncer who quickly moves to let them in, throwing further insult at Polly. She puts her head down and sulks away to make her way home.

***

A tear rolls down her face as she pulls a small bottle out of her pocket and swallows all that is left, numbing her feelings. Something she has been doing frequently over the past few years.

She tries to push past the fog to remember how long it has been since she has seen her children, "Three years," she mutters to no one in particular. A group of people walking nearby move over another few feet as she starts rambling to herself.

"Three years since I have seen my babies."

Lowering herself down onto the curb she throws the bottle to the gutter, condemning it. If only she could have thrown the bottle away years ago, she would still be married, living in the suburbs, enjoying family barbecues and the loving smiles of her children.

But she hadn't. Her beauty had quickly faded as she went from enjoying a glass of wine with dinner to requiring a bottle to get out of bed. Most days she was not even capable of getting her small children out the door and to school. When the school finally called her husband at work, he was furious. Her husband had begged and begged her to get help, he would see her through it, for the kids' sake, she still couldn't. The bottle had taken her family and her life quicker then she had thought.

Now she wanders the streets of Toronto alone.

Another tear rolled down her face, the alcohol was losing its ability to numb her. She could not even remember what had caused her to start drinking all those years ago - the allure being long gone. "This is no life for a woman in her forties," she whispers to herself.

***

"Need a ride?"

"What time is it?" Polly looks up from her seat on the curb.

She tries to bring herself to her feet, a wave of nausea and a swirling landscape make her rethink the idea. She tries to peer at the driver through the passenger side window that had been rolled down. She could tell that he was alone however the interior shadowed his face.

"It's almost three - are you ok?"

Polly is taken aback. She frowns to herself as she realizes that she must have passed out on the sidewalk - again. The chill from the night air causes her to wrap her arms around herself in an embrace, as she tries to rub some feeling back into them.

She is disappointed and embarrassed at what is starting to be a newly formed habit. The idea of it being newly formed is questionable. Images flash in her mind of countless times she has passed at the breakfast table, in the sitting room or even during a family event.

Sadness overtakes her and in that moment she makes a solemn vow to get herself help. The drink is killing her and she can no longer go down this dark path she has been forging for herself.

"I'm fine," she nods looking herself over - her appearance alone reaffirms the decision she had made just seconds earlier.

"Do you need a ride?" The driver asks the question again, his door is ajar as he stands next to his car. Polly can only make out the smile on his lips. It is warm and welcoming.

She can still feel her lucidity crumbling - the drink wanting to bring her back to slumber, Polly knew she can not give in, at least not yet as she still remains sitting on the curb. Even though she is unsure where she was, she politely refuses.

"Thank you, I am fine." She smiles back at the young man as she starts to pull herself up to her feet.

"But I insist," the pleasant voice has turned sinister and dark as it coos in her ear. Startled she looks up to see that he has already closed the distance between them, standing nearly on top of her. The warm smile replaced with an unnerving grin as he sneers at her.

Before she can even muster a response, he clocks her on the right side of her face, pain shoots through her jaw and then everything goes black.

***

The sun has just broken through the cloud mass in the sky. It is early and Nathan is already running late. It is going to be the third time this month, his pompous supervisor would be more then delighted to lecture him on the importance of being prompt. "Tom," forever providing him with insight on how to better his life, taking Nathan under his wing to produce a better man.

It frustrated Nathan to no end as Tom is only three years older than him.

Lost in his own thoughts he catches his shoe on something causing him to stumble and spill coffee on his tie and shirt.

"Just perfect!" He fumes to no one in particular but himself. He huffs thinking about the tongue lashing Tom would give him for this, he debates calling in sick and avoiding all possible conversations. Still mumbling to himself Nathan begins to check himself over. There is relatively no damage to his shirt and thankfully the busy pattern on his tie masks most of the spill. He reaches down to examine his shoe and pulls back his fingers, they are wet and tacky. Pondering the substance he looks to his right and immediately emptied the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk.

Nathan would be calling in sick.

He has just stumbled across what had once been Polly.